


Lupercalia

by AraSigyrn



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, unclear consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>If you believe the tabloids, life as a werewolf is easy.  Most of the time, lycanthropy gets filed with the body issues and random pimple out-break in 'Shit that screws up Adam Lambert's life'.  He shaves a little more often, likes his meat a little rarer and invests serious money in aromatherapy.  He's just your typical werewolf rockstar.</em>"</p>
<p>Adam thinks that he's beaten the werewolf issues and gets to have his life just like it was.  Kris knows better.</p>
<p>A b-day fic for Vae!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lupercalia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/gifts).



If you believe the tabloids, life as a werewolf is easy. Most of the time, lycanthropy gets filed with the body issues and random pimple out-break in 'Shit that screws up Adam Lambert's life'. He shaves a little more often, likes his meat a little rarer and invests serious money in aromatherapy. He's just your typical werewolf rockstar.

And wouldn't Kris' life be so much easier if that was true for all three weeks of the lunar calendar?

Kris isn't a rockstar. He's just a guy with a guitar and wishful dreams about playing for a career. Kris didn't set out to be a-a werewolf call guy. It just kinda happened that way and sometimes, Kris can't believe he let this happen.

Kris grew up as a werewolf, part of the tiny tight-knit Conway pack, and his momma always said that he should keep his head up. He's never hidden his nature, never even considered staying in the lunar closet when he came to LA to follow his dreams. He used to be proud of that and Kris barks a bitter laugh that scatters the local pack like startled pigeons.

Cheeks calls at twelve and Brady howls for him ten minutes later. Kris has been running, endless loops of a mostly overgrown urban wasteland of a park. He's kinda small, painfully white but he's wearing the mostly-silver collar and has the Alpha tattoo spiraling out over his shoulder-blade. The local pack come creeping back and circling, keeping a wary distance but staring, always staring until Kris can feel the prick of his fangs against his gums.

The moon is full. It's eight hours to dark but the moon's song is already pulling at the wolf and Kris aches with want.

He hears Brady's howl and part of him, the unwilling lone wolf, exults. Kris turns back towards the Holiday Inn and accelerates. It took forty five minutes for Kris to get here. He makes it back in ten. Brady is waiting outside, alongside a familiar SUV.

Kris relaxes a little. Brady isn't his mate but he's pack and the obvious relief when he sees Kris soothes Kris' frustrated Alpha instincts.

"Brad," Brady starts and swallows, breathing in as Kris comes to a stop beside him. "Brad says he's starting to growl. There's an interview."

"Ellen?" Kris says without much hope. He's supposed to be told if Adam will be interviewed on the Moon-Days. Adam's people don't usually bother. Ellen is not-pack but she's friendly, empathic and doesn't bother with the gotcha questions. An interview with Ellen isn't that bad.

"O'Reilly," Brady chews his lip. Kris growls low in his throat. "That-that's bad, right?"

"Yeah," Kris says through his teeth. "Yeah, Brady. That's bad."

Brady isn't normally this stupid but the rising moon-fever is leaving him sweaty and feverish and Brad isn't here. Kris can empathize but the fear for his mate is making Brady tense and wired. Brad must be freaking out.

"How much time do I have?" Kris is already pulling off his wife beater even as he scrambles into the SUV.

"Time for a shower," Brady climbs in after him, hands hovering but not quite daring to touch. "Brad's waiting in the guest bathroom."

"Sure," Kris nods and doesn't remind Brady that they've done this every full moon for the last year. Brady is torn between the fever and fear for his Alpha and the nervous reek of his emotion fills the whole damn car. Kris catches the driver's eye and the windows roll down.

Brad is waiting inside Adam's house when Kris, led by a PA with a spritz bottle filled with a synthetic compound that approximates Adam's scent, gets there. The shower is already running, the moisture diffusing Brad's scent through the room. 

"You're late," Brad grouches. Kris curls his lip and Brad ducks his head, shoving the sterile scent-bleaching soap into his hands as Kris wiggles out of his sweats. He's only in the shower for about fifteen minutes; he's an old pro at this. He pays attention to his armpits, neck and groin. His wolf is growling continuously, not liking the blank slate where his own scent should be, but most of his focus is the illusive quick-silver scent of Adam that fills the whole house and Kris is half-hard even before Kris lathers up his balls.

Brad is pulling on a hoody and uncharacteristically loose jeans when Kris shuts off the water.

"Lanie says he's been growling since the first minute," Brad says to the wall. Brad isn't modest but when Kris strips away his scent, Brad looks away every time. "He'll be back soon. It's still light, is that-?"

"I'll keep the curtains closed," Kris says as he dries himself with one of the sinfully soft towels. "Do you still have those musk candles?" 

"In the chest of drawers beside the bathroom door," Brad nods.

"Go," Kris says. "Fuck your mate. Ride the moon."

"I remember when you were such a good, Southern boy," Brad smiles but it's a tense, unhappy thing. 

"Go," Kris repeats. "I'll see you in the morning."

Brad hugs him and Kris struggles past the snarling instincts to let him. He even hugs Brad back, though he's already too hot to stand it. He'll smell of Brad even under the too-tight clothes that Brad loves and Kris hates. Brad kisses his cheek and doesn't meet Kris' eyes as he steps back.

Kris watches him leave before he pulls the lube out of the bathroom cabinet and slicks his fingers. He's tense so the first two fingers border on painful but Kris presses in. He can feel the bump and curve of his fingers as he twists his wrist, pushing deeper.

The first time Brad did this for him, Kris had been amazed at how sensitive he was inside. He's still not entirely comfortable because standing naked in a bathroom with your own fingers up your ass isn't sexy. But Adam won't wait and the one time Kris had skimped the lube, Brady had driven him to the ER after and worried and fretted over him for the rest of that month.

Part of Kris wants to leave the lube out of it entirely; let Adam tear him open, hurt him and leave him weak and ravaged. It's the part he doesn't pay attention to because Kris has a pack, not just faithful Brady, but Cale and Andrew and Katy and Allison and he's not allowed to die.

He adds more lube. It's only one thirty and the moon fever won't break 'til dawn. Adam has the sort of stamina that most wolves need a bottle of Viagra to achieve. Brad bought the lube for its promise of 'all night wet' and Kris hadn't ever found the words to explain that they didn't need it.

Adam never uses a condom. He's not going to leave Kris enough time to catch his breath and Kris will slip out in the morning, with a raw ache and Adam's come slicking the seat of his pants. It's going to hurt.

Kris pushes a third finger in, breath catching as he clenches involuntarily. This is the only time Kris lets himself hate Adam. It's a half-hearted thing because Adam's his mate, the other half of a soul that Kris had never known was incomplete and Kris knows that even as he hates Adam right this second, he'd cut his own throat before he left.

Adam isn't born a wolf. Kris can't blame him for wanting to cling to the facade of humanity. He can't even blame Adam for convincing himself that Brad was his mate. He can't blame Adam for never noticing that Brad is subtly, utterly wrong for him. Kris really only has himself to blame for the fact that Adam doesn't even know Kris' name.

Kris stretches himself, gritting his teeth against the needy whine. His fingers feel heavy and invasive and even the moon fever doesn't help with the lonely chill in his gut. He focuses on getting himself as loose and wet as he can because Adam's wolf is always hungry, always impatient and Kris feels hollowed out and empty.

He washes his hands, drinks a glass of water and starts fighting his way into Brad's clothes. He doesn't bother doing up the fly because for all that he and Brad have in common, Kris has at least an inch on Brad when it comes to dick size. He's half-hard and Kris rubs a little powdery foundation into his cheeks to complete the scent-camouflage. 

It won't matter after the first few minutes - Adam represses his wolf so hard for two and a half weeks out of the lunar month that it pretty much takes over for the full moon and Adam's wolf doesn't know or care that Kris' smell is wrong. Adam's wolf knows who - _what_ \- Kris is. The only reason this whole fucked-up arrangement works is that Kris smells like himself after the first furious coupling leaves him wrecked and sweaty on Adam's expensive sheets.

Kris is just blowing out the match, three candles lit when he hears the front door crash open. He feels the prickle of goosebumps where the itch of fur threatening to erupt through his skin. His lips are twisted by the fangs and he braces his hands on the footboard, forcing his shoulders down and trying to slow his breathing.

Every time they do this, Kris has the same dizzying dread that this time, this time, Adam is going to look first and scent second. He doesn't know what will happen if Adam's carefully constructed delusion is shattered like that but the thought of it makes his stomach clench and a cold sweat drench his skin.

Adam's snarl is more a roar as he flings the bedroom door open and even as Kris' wolf snarls back from the depth of his throat, Kris feels a momentary rush of relief. Adam's already half-savage, wolf erupting from the family-friendly veneer of the rockstar. 

Kris is the rational one; it's his job. It's him that has to keep them balanced on that knife edge where sex and violence meet. Adam needs release; the wolf doesn't take well to suppression and there's more to the wolf than sex, whatever the fucking idiot who handled Adam's post-bite counseling. The wolf is power. More than anything else, the wolf as Kris understands it is power. Sex is a release, so is fighting, hunting, running.

Adam won't leave the house as a wolf so Kris can't lure him out to run the way his dad does with his mom. He doesn't dare let Adam's aggression spill into a fight because Adam's wolf isn't socialized. Kris is an experienced Alpha, he's won fights against wolves three times his size but those were always under the unspoken rules of combat.

Adam is bigger and stronger than Kris and the heat of the fever makes him clumsy. He's nearly heavy enough to knock Kris onto the bed, sharp teeth dig into the nape of Kris' neck and he twists, snarling. Adam's growl vibrates through them both as he tears the stupid purple shirt clear off Kris' back. Kris can't regret it though Brad is probably going to kill them both.

Adam's claws leave thin furrows and Kris' blood is a vivid splash of color. He throws himself back, enough to rock Adam but Adam's hands seize his hips and there's a dizzying spin as they both twist, biting and scrabbling at each other until one of them slips - Kris thinks it might be him but he can't be sure - and they hit the bed, tangled together. 

Adam gets his teeth into Kris' neck again and even knowing that Adam must have his scent, there's a shiver of fear. Adam's teeth are mostly fangs and Kris feels his skin and flesh part like tissue paper. Kris can only bite at the meaty curve of Adam's shoulder - not enough to hurt but enough to taste his blood and make Adam snarl. Kris can feel it, the vibration quivering against his windpipe.

Adam's hands are distorted by his claws and Kris twists, feeling the rip when Adam's claws snag and tear his skin. The pain is a rush that helps keep Kris' mind clear of the searing, rutting need. Adam's heat and the cloying thick scent of him. He smells of sex and musk and the coppery blood makes Kris want to roll, bare his throat and let Adam fuse them together.

Adam rips at the pants, which are real leather and sticking to the sweaty skin underneath. Kris kicks and twists and between them, they strip him. He's naked, only the rags of the shirt still trailing off his arms. Adam hauls Kris closer, claws digging into his hips until Kris feels them grate against the bone. It's agonizing but Kris barely feels it over the hot breath as Adam licks and sniffs at his neck. Kris' own claws are shredding the sheets and he's panting already.

He hears the whine in Adam's throat as he rocks closer. Kris can feel the rasp of denim against his skin and Adam's cock, hard and hot, straining the fabric. He reaches back blindly, clumsy and desperate and Adam's whine sharpens into a growl when Kris' claws slip against the shiny buckles of his belt. Kris growls back, tearing recklessly and something gives with a rip and Adam's growl curdles as he rubs his bare cock against the curve of Kris' back.

Kris doesn't have time to brace. Adam slams into him. No warning. Kris' claws dig deep into the mattress and he feels something crunch under his desperate grip. Adam's impossibly big; hotter than the fires of hell and he hits that place inside that makes Kris howl every single time. He can feel the smile, even through the fangs dragging at the tender just-healed skin and Adam's satisfied groan makes Kris bare his fangs. 

Adam fucks him just like that; fangs and claws and dick as deep into Kris as he can get them and God help him, Kris loves it. He loves Adam in that moment, when they're both stripped bare and burning up, as he never manages in the bleak empty weeks when Adam goes back to his human life. It's that love, that treacherous slippery slope, that lets him slump a little, head tipping just enough to bare the tiniest sliver of his throat.

Adam bites him, fangs sinking so deep that Kris feels the points against his windpipe when he breathes in. There's a moment, an electric instant, where Kris thinks that Adam is (finally) going to kill him. His muscles tense but Kris doesn't twitch or pull away. Adam makes a soft sound, a jarring contrast to the way his hips slam against Kris. His fangs slip free and Adam nuzzles against the open wounds. His tongue feels like rough-toothed sandpaper but he's making this weird crooning sound even as he fucks Kris so hard that Kris' bones rattle.

Kris tips his head back, struggling to breathe and he sees Adam's eyes, impossibly blue and sharp even with the wolf smoldering through and it's just too much to hold together. Kris howls, low but rising and Adam threads his voice through, blending their howls into one soulful chorus that drowns out the whole damn world. For that one second, everything is perfect.

When Kris wakes, it's just before dawn. The light is pale, the promise of the Californian heat already starting to collect in the open air and Adam is all lean lines and long arms around him. Kris lets his eyes close for a second; lets himself breathe in the scent of both of them, the humans and the wolves. He doesn't let himself linger, rolls out of the bed with careful practice and pulls on the sweatpants and shirt he'd left out.

He looks back at Adam, blinks once to ease the sting in his eyes and slips out through the bathroom. He's aching, the deep hollow ache that he always feels and he can already feel the stretch and shift as he heals. He almost wishes that he wouldn't, wishes that he could keep the pain as proof that this really happened. It's not safe, not part of the deal and Kris pushes the wistful thought away before the aching howl can escape.

Brad is waiting in the guest bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet and picking nervously at his nails. He stands up so fast that he nearly falls into the bath and Kris can't even muster a smile. He strips off the shirt and sweatpants that smell of him and Adam. He's already shifting, the pulse of energy riding the bumps of his spine and fur sprouting as he falls forward to land on all four paws. Brad, lip caught between his teeth, watches him and Kris could write a book with the flood of emotion.

He shakes his head, feels the swish of his fur as the shake ripples down his back and along his tail. He looks up at Brad, whuffs out a bitter breath that stinks of regret and sorrow and slips away before Brad can touch him. There's a PA waiting at the door to let him out. She stinks of fear as Kris brushes past, shoulder on a level with her hip but Kris' nose is full of the scent of Brady and pack and he leaps into the SUV that's waiting with the door open. 

He lets Brady hug him, all long arms and human angles and Kris buries his head against Brady's chest and lets his packmate's steady heartbeat ground him until his jaw doesn't ache with the howl. When they get back to the Holiday Inn, Kris will put his human face back on and carry on like nothing's wrong but right now all he wants is curl his tail over his nose and pretend, just for a while, that the world's gone away.


End file.
